Flux
by couchtomat0
Summary: "I have this idea of us, of you and me and Joe, as something static, you know, concrete. But it's not."
1. Libertas

In a way, it was simpler for Luka. If he headed east long enough, he would be home. Back to the sea that he missed so much, the familiar streets, the pews of the same church where he had sat with his mother and listened to the music. Or at least he could imagine it that way if he tried hard enough, when things went wrong. He could pretend there was still some semblance of a life for him in Croatia- something he could piece together from the ruins he had left behind, despite being too afraid to follow through. In a way though, it would always be harder.

Alone and exhausted, he had taken Joe to that church in the weeks after his father had died. Maybe it was an impulse. Maybe something like muscle memory, to walk there with his child in his arms. Late in the afternoon, the little one down for a nap and his family gathered around the table downstairs, Luka locked the bathroom door, turned the tap on, and cried until his eyes burned and his chest ached.

Until that morning, he hadn't known his son could remind him so much of Marko. Marko, transfixed by the processional, but swinging his tiny legs restlessly through the liturgy, asleep before everyone had taken communion. Of all the grief and of the last time he'd stepped foot in that church with the family he'd lost. Then again, the reminders were everywhere. One family was gone, another falling apart. Who could bear it? How many times had he told himself he couldn't?

At least the little one who lay in his childhood bedroom was happy and safe.

And at least it wasn't Vukovar. At least there were places he could escape to.

Before then, he hadn't cried since that night in Chicago with Abby, hadn't cried for his father, not even during the funeral. But he was a doctor, after all. Doctors didn't cry over cancer. Certainly, he didn't deserve to cry for someone he had all but abandoned for years. An afterthought on a humanitarian trip, an excuse (unused, at that) to leave town after another failed relationship. No, it was too little, too late. Or at least he would tell himself those things, still sleepless at dawn. Anything to abate the guilt.

When, after what seemed like a lifetime, Abby joined them, he didn't take her to the church. To Stari Grad, down Stradun and to walk the city walls and see the forts- Zvijezdan, Minčeta, Lovrijenac. They strolled along the beach and laughed together while they watched Joe run barefoot along the edge of the water. But never that church.

"Remember when he wouldn't even get in the bath without screaming?"

"Well, now he tries to swim in it. Good luck getting him clean."

Abby reached to take Luka's hand and it didn't feel quite right. She didn't feel quite clean enough herself. It didn't feel entirely wrong though, not like when she was in rehab. Had he hated her then? She almost hoped so. They both knew there were secrets. _More will be revealed._ She was still thinking in slogans. _Stupid fucking slogans. Stupid AA. Stupid me for doing this to us._

As long as they were there though, Luka could pretend. She was next to him, finally. He had needed her next to him so badly all of those weeks in between. Hand in hand, they walked over to the retreating tide, Luka leaning down to scoop up Joe.

"Hajde, sine moj. Hajde da idemo doma, al' vratit ćemo sutra." He hoisted the boy, whose feet were plastered in wet sand, onto his shoulders, and turned to look at his wife. "Abby? You're ready to go home?"

"Yeah." Abby smiled softly as she spoke, and Luka's stomach sank. Being with her truly had felt like home again for a moment. Not like fear and anxiety. Not the tension between them every time he'd kissed her, or confusion at the way she had slept with her back to him, since that night she had asked him for help. "Yeah, let's go home."

When the secrets spilled out, he knew, it would kill him.


	2. Minnetonka

For as long as she could remember, Abby hadn't known where home was. You can't call your house a home when it's the place where your supposed father abandoned you. You can't call the hundredth motel room home. Especially not when your mother- a manic, fly by night creature- might have left you there alone again, a child yourself, to take care of your little brother.

Chicago could have been home. Chicago and all of the good memories, more stability than she had ever known, but eventually more demons than she could exorcise. There was the disaster of a marriage to Richard, almost a baby with Richard. Then there was Carter and his almost-proposal. The abduction in the ambulance bay. The days spent mourning for Luka only to see him return. Not to mention her own special ways of self destructing when things began to go wrong. She could only dodge so many bullets. There was always collateral damage.

There were other things, things she never spoke of. At night, always hoping Luka wouldn't notice, she would slip away to the front door and double check that it was locked before they went to bed. Eventually, he began to do so before she could get the chance. He never mentioned it and she never thanked him, but they both understood.

After some time, she felt sure of their relationship. But once in a while, seeing him laugh with Sam at a joke she would never understand, or overhearing him offer to help with Alex, she would feel a pang of jealousy (or insecurity, or both, she hadn't entirely decided.) Either way, it was always sharp enough that it would catch her by surprise. Nothing made her feel smaller.

Once, the loss of a bipolar patient found her running frantically through the department afterward, running to find Luka, who was finishing charts in the lounge. Breathless, she walked across the room to him and curled onto his lap, spilling his coffee onto the newly pressed lab coat he wore. Nothing but sobs and rambling. Maggie, the pills, why hadn't she just listened to him, why had she gone on the drive with Carter, Eric's stupid fucking plane and all of the uncertainty. She couldn't do it again, it was too much. He didn't ask her to explain where it had all come from so suddenly, just let her go on. He knew what was next.

"What if the baby is bipolar? What if it's a mistake after all?"

What if, what if, what if. It was too late to take it back. She didn't want to take it back, whatever her fears might have been. Luka pulled her closer, a hand resting gently over the one she had placed so instinctively over her abdomen. The conversation would only take them in circles; he knew it by then, having long since lost count of the number of times he had tried to reassure her. He knew, by then, that Abby didn't expect to feel reassured. In those moments, she sought him out only to know that he had meant what he said.

They would find a way to make it work, if that was what she wanted.

"Abby. We don't need to keep killing ourselves worrying about what happens next." He spoke softly, his tone steady in spite of his own uncertainty. "Things happen. You can't stop them, you just have to get through them. We can get through it. We'll be okay."

"But you don't understand what it's like to live with that fear. Luka, you can't want this. You don't understand."

"You're right, I don't know. I didn't grow up with Maggie and Eric. But I want all of this, with you. I'll take my chances."

The chance to have a family again, the chance to have her beside him again, wherever things took them. The chance that he would have to watch it all disappear. How quickly she had dismissed his own fears in that moment. She hid her face against his neck, whispering apologies only to be met with a quiet 'shh' in return and a kiss on her temple. In the end though, after the months of waiting, the decisions, the NICU, the surgery, their son was fine. At least as far as they knew.

Most nights, settling Joe into his crib after a late feeding, she would still worry. And secretly, Luka would worry too. They both understood how quickly things could change.

Then the pink cloud hit, the too-much-happiness, no more meetings because everything was fine, then because nothing was fine, the hard crash down, drinking, lying, cheating, breaking his heart and praying that she could somehow put things back together. After her years of alcoholism, relapse, waking up next to strangers, she never knew she could feel so cheap and tainted. Yet there she was. Waking to the greys and whites of the rehab center, fluorescent lights shining overhead, along with the same thoughts.

She had come so close to losing him for good that night with Ames. How could she all but give him up? How could she have made herself unwelcome in the home she had only just found? Ever the pariah and only ever herself to blame.

Abby, all complications and so many insecurities. Luka's past, enough loss for a dozen lifetimes. Maybe it couldn't be simple for anyone.


End file.
